Death of the Bumblebee
by La Chatte de la Nuit
Summary: The comprehensive account of how a university student managed to capture the heart of an indifferent detective and how one reserved bee-keeper attempted to win back the harassed single mother. With the help of old friends, the return of old foes and a battle against a malevolent new enemy this will be no fluffy fairytale. Can the star-crossed pair achieve their happily never after?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Sherlock's finger hovered above the 'Add to Cart' button, he was unsure but he couldn't tell why, this should be easy it was something he had always wanted and yet his finger hovered, uncertain. He jumped as the door bell rang, almost upsetting his cold cup of tea and wandered out of his living room and down the hall hoping beyond hope that is wasn't a group of pining pathetic fangirls. He opened the door, the sun sat low in the sky, a huge golden disc just above the horizon obscuring the figure between his bottom step and their car, casting them into silhouette. He frowned, squinting and shivered in the freezing mid-winter air. "Hello," he asked the figure with its back to him facing their car. Its fists clenched and the figure slowly turned to its right, so it faced the afternoon sun. His heart leaped and he took a step out onto the freezing flagstones. Her name stuck in his throat, what if he was wrong... Again. Then, incredibly slowly she turned and faced him. "Sherlock?" she whispered hopefully. "Elodie!?" Involuntarily, he grinned and hurried down the steps despite his lack of shoes. "Hahaha, Elodie. It's you, it _is_ you, you came."

"Said I would, didn't I? Promised, didn't I?" And despite herself she smiled, a little.

Ignoring that it had not reached her red, blotchy eyes, ignoring fifteen whole years and ignoring the silver engagement ring and golden wedding band on her finger, Sherlock stepped closer to Elodie, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing her to him. He leant down pressing his lips to hers and despite how they had last parted, despite fifteen whole years and despite the silver engagement ring and golden wedding band on her finger she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his for the first time in fifteen long years. He pulled away and smiled at her, "Come in." It was an order, but gently put.

She perched on the arm of his chair, fingers laced around a cup of tea hours later. The two were looking through old newspaper clippings, photograph albums and John's blog, reminiscing about the years when the three had solved cases together and when they had first met. Sherlock didn't dare ask about the last fifteen years and there wasn't much to say about himself. A spike of fear ran through him as he heard the distinctive chink of a ring on china, he glanced right inconspicuously, finally noticing the rings on her left hand. She was married and had been for a while and quite happily by the looks of it. What should he do? He'd kissed her, but she's kissed him back. And why the hell was she here? "... Elodie?"

"Mmm," she smiled kindly.

Sighing, "Why did you come here today?"

Frowning, "What do you mean?"

"Why did you come?"

"I- well, John told me that when he'd last spoke to you you were talking about bees and I knew once you got bees I would never see you again and I couldn't bare the thought of that. I couldn't bare the thought of that being the last time I saw you. I... just had to see you again."

But rather than softening him that simply angered him further, he stood suddenly grabbing hold of Elodie's left wrist and forcing her into a standing position. He shook her hand, "Did you think I wouldn't notice? Did you think I wouldn't care?"

"I don't understand," she whimpered, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes.

"Does he know you're here?" Her pathetic crying only angered him more.

" _Who?_ "

"Your Husband!"

"Oh! Oh, Sherlock."

"Does he know?"

She smiled sadly, "No, I suppose not."

"Why? Are you too afraid to tell him? Would it break your marriage?" How could she smile like that, as if it was alright?

"No."

"Then why doesn't he know? Why didn't you tell him?"

"Because I couldn't, Sherlock, because he's- Well, he's dead," she looked down suddenly all happiness gone from her face.

"Oh," Sherlock whispered, "Oh, I'm sorry. H-how long..."

She smiled and whispered, "Five years now."

"That's a while... I'm sorry for your loss," Sherlock, realising how tightly he was holding her wrist, set Elodie down gently. She rubbed her wrist a little, but smiled at him. "Tell me about him," he couldn't help but selfishly hope that her second husband had been worse than him.

"David was wonderful. He was a lovely, kind person, the best I've ever met, much better than you and much better than me. He deserved someone a lot better than me," her eyes were full of sadness as she said this.

"Elodie, that isn't true, you're the best person I know."

"No, that isn't true, you know John and Mary and Molly and Lestrade and Mycroft and, for goodness' sake, I think even perhaps Morairty is better than me. No, he deserved someone better, someone good and kind and sensible, someone called Rachel with glasses and brown hair."

"He had an affair!?" Sherlock was shocked, how could she say he was the best person she had ever met if there had been this Rachel?

"No, I made Rachel up. I made Rachel up the day- the day he died, when I told him that he deserved her not me... He thought I'd had an affair once, you know? He thought I'd gone to see you."

"You told him about me?"

"No, but he suspected there had been someone. I went away one weekend, I left a note and sorted all of the washing and cooking for the two days and left. He thought I'd gone to see you, although he never said until that day."

"But you didn't," Sherlock whispered.

"No, no I didn't. I went to Whitby to be by the sea, like ladies with consumption did in the Victorian era."

"Were you ill?"

Elodie smiled sadly, "Sort of." She sighed and glanced at the clock on the mantle piece, "It's getting late, I have to go. I'm sorry, but I left the kids in a café with John and Mary, so I really best be getting back."

Sherlock, despite himself, was shocked and taken aback, "You have children?"

Elodie suddenly grinned, "Yes, three: Angela, Maria and John."

"Is naming them after John and Mary purposeful," Sherlock snickered, he could tell by the look on her face that it wasn't.

"Oh! Uh, no. I've never really noticed before, I suppose it was subconscious... Sherlock I'd really like you to meet my children and I know John and Mary would love to see you again, they worry about you, Sherlock, _I_ worry about you." He couldn't help smiling a little; she worried about him. "Will you come back with me? Just for the night, I'll run you back in the morning and we've got loads of spare rooms."

"Oh, no," he shook his head, "I couldn't."

"Please, Sherlock." How could he resist her desperate face, but no, to go would be a bad idea he just knew it. She sighed, "If you change your mind the offer still stands, I would really like you to come..." She stood there for a few minutes longer looking at him and then sighed, she'd been foolish to think he would come, to allow herself to actually feel happy for once. "I'll see myself out," she whispered and walked out of the living room door and down the short hallway to the door.

* * *

This is the comprehensive account of how one kind-hearted university student managed to capture the heart of the indifferent detective and how one reserved bee-keeper attempted to win back the harassed single mother.

Of course, I don't own any of the characters except Elodie, her children and referenced husband and 'new enemy,' along with a few minor characters near the end.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He watched her retreating waist and her heel slip through the door as it shut quietly behind her. It was already getting dark as he leant against the door frame, listening to the sound of her engine starting up. Could he really let her go without so much as a goodbye again? No, no he couldn't, it might be a bad idea, but he didn't care. He had always been bad for Elodie and she wanted him to go. No, he couldn't let her simply walk out of his life again as if... He was racing down the hallway, whipping his coat and satchel off their hooks as he went, he flew out the door and slammed both his hands on to her bonnet. Elodie sat quite astonished at Sherlock panting through the front wind screen, then she rolled down her window, "So, you decided to come after all." He simply nodded and she grinned, "Lock your door and get in then."

* * *

They had not talked for most of the journey back to London and Elodie made sure not to look at him as she pulled through the familiar, narrow streets. As she pulled up onto the pavement outside her large house, her stomach twisted with fear, she shouldn't have done it like this. "Just to warn you, before we go in," she tried her best to sound light-hearted, should she tell him about that? "But my-uh daughter Maria, she's eight and she doesn't know that I know you, but- well, she runs S.H.A.T."

Sherlock frowned, "Shat? What exactly is that?"

"It stands for," Elodie's mouth twisted in embarrassment and she was glad it was dark, "Well it stands for the... Sherlock Holmes Appreciation Team. I've tried to curtail her admiration, but you've just always fascinated her and her friends." She looked away, but Sherlock laughed aloud, "The Sherlock Holmes Appreciation Team, how fitting for Elodie Brown's daughter and for her not to know who you are, hahaha. But she can't have inherited your observational skills for her not to notice that her own mother is Elodie Brown."

"It is not fitting!" Exclaimed Elodie hotly, "And anyway, people often look past what is right in front of their noses, as well you know. Well, I just thought I should tell you that's all. Come on."

"Sherlock Holmes Appreciation Team," Sherlock teased.

"Oh stop it," Elodie smiled, "But when I said admiration, obsession might have been more accurate." And with that she climbed out of the door and dangled the keys in front of the window to signal that if he didn't get out now she was locking him in.

"Come on, Shelley," she slipped off her coat and hung it on a hook, slipping through a door on the left. Sherlock, irritated by the old nickname, stared around the wide hallway he was stood in. Behind him was the front door, to his left was a row of hooks covered in coats and surrounded by school shoes and wellington boots, halfway down the right wall was a large opening with stairs leading off into the darkness and directly ahead was a door opening onto a dark kitchen. Swallowing, he crept towards a door a little on from the coat pegs. "I've brought a visitor," he heard Elodie say. She swallowed, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks, this was not the right way to do this but... "John, Mary meet an old friend of yours, John meet an old friend of mine, Maria meet your hero, Angela... Meet your father."

Elodie glanced back at Sherlock stood awkwardly in the doorway and twisted her mouth in an apologetic smile as she watched his eyes widen in horror as he realised what she had said. Mary began to exclaim, but John laid a hand on her knee to quieten her, nodding at Angela who had got to her feet. She walked carefully towards Sherlock and Elodie stepped back into the door out of their way. They both stepped forward facing each other, their eyes narrowed in suspicion, then Angela stuck out her hand suddenly, "Sherlock Holmes, I presume." The eyes of all four adults widened in shock and they glanced at each other at the odd mirror of many years before. But Sherlock shook his daughter's hand and began to pace around her slowly, taking in her dark honey blond, tightly ringletted hair, her cheek bones and bone structure that so strongly resembled her mother's (or perhaps father's), her (in his fatherly opinion) much too short skirt and long, fitted, yellow tank top over a short puff sleeved white blouse. She was happy enough, but did not take her mother's discipline seriously, but other than that she was difficult to analyse, just like her mother who he had often got wrong. Angela studied a father whom she had often asked about but never expected to meet, then turned furious to her mother and said, as she left the room, "You might be my father, but you'll never be my dad."

Elodie closed her eyes, her daughter had, in fact, reacted better than expected. "Come on you two. Off to bed, it's very late," she clapped her hands at her other two children who sat on the floor where Angela had left them. John, who was the spit of his father, left hurriedly, never taking his eyes off the stranger in his living room. Maria sat, bright-red in the face of her idol. Breathing heavily, she stood slowly, "Hello, Mr. Holmes." She had perfectly straight, bright blond hair topped with a black beret. He smiled at her, he wasn't keen on children, but she was Elodie's child and very nervous, "Hello, uh, Maria." She squeaked involuntarily and scurried out the room.

* * *

After settling down her two youngest children (she was, for now, avoiding Angela), Elodie stood awkwardly in the middle of her living room; John and Mary still sat on the sofa with its back against the hallway wall, Sherlock perched between them looking uncharacteristically shell-shocked. "So," began Mary, "Angela's father is Sherlock after all that."

"I thought you knew, Mary. The times add up perfectly, who else could it be? And you're usually good with knowing that kind of stuff, it's usually John who doesn't notice."

"Mm, even I guessed that the father was Sherlock," agreed John.

"Well, I just thought it was, you know, someone random you'd met in a bar, I didn't really think you still knew him and that was why you always put off telling Angela."

"Well," Sherlock began to speak for the first time in a while, "What I don't understand is why you never told me, Elodie. If I'd known I wouldn't have let you bring it up alone, I would have helped, I would have-"

"I know, Sherlock," Elodie cut him off, "And that's part of the reason that I didn't tell you, I wanted to I really did, I didn't want to leave at all, but... Well, I had to didn't I? Or we'd probably both be insane, depressed and addicted by now and I didn't know that I was pregnant. But imagine if I had told you, imagine how Angela would have turned out. She's only just scraped by being raised by me and luckily for her David came along, but imagine if we had raised a child Sherlock, if it had even survived it would have been absolutely feral, there was no way, in the state that I left us in, that we would have made good parents. But I still wanted you to know, I still wanted Angela to know, I realise that I didn't do that in the best way."

So that was the real reason she came. Elodie yawned, she looked absolutely exhausted, "I think we should all get some rest, we can discuss this further in the morning. You two can leave when you like, Sherlock your bedroom is the last one if you turn left at the top of the stairs, just before the bathroom."

"Where do you two live?" Sherlock asked his old flatmate and his wife.

"Right next door," Elodie answered as she left the room, "I know, it wasn't planned." As she climbed the stairs she heard John say to Sherlock, "It's great to see you again, Sherlock" and Mary preparing to go, after all, the pair had a lot of catching up to do. "Angela," she knocked on her daughter's door. "What?" Was the reply from within. Elodie opened the door and slipped into the room. "Hey," she said, sitting down on her eldest's bed. "I know that wasn't the best way to tell you who your father is, but you always wanted to meet him-"

"I wanted to meet him as my father, not your new boyfriend," Angela rolled over to face the wall.

"He's not my new boyfriend, Angela and he's not here to replace your dad, he's just a friend of mine and your Uncle John and Aunty Mary's, he won't be staying for long." That was what I kept telling myself as I left Angela's room and stood at the top of the stairs listening to him and John talking like they used to; he wouldn't be staying for long, this was just temporary that's all, he wouldn't be staying for long.


End file.
